


Masquerade

by Sethen



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dark Past, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Drama, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Graphic Description, Hate Sex, Insecurity, Intense, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Love/Hate, M/M, Masochism, Mental Breakdown, Murder, Mystery, Organized Crime, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character(s), Power Play, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Rating May Change, Romance, Sadism, Self-Acceptance, Self-Denial, Self-Hatred, Serial Killers, Shizaya - Freeform, Some Humor, Tags May Change, Thriller, Torture, Violence, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2018-10-10 22:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sethen/pseuds/Sethen
Summary: When a powerful and dangerous acquaintance from Izaya's past returns to challenge him, Izaya's skill and morale are put to the test. As the informant engages in a battle of wits against a ruthless adversary that will do anything to destroy him, he must search himself, his abilities, and finds an unlikely escape in his nemesis, Shizuo.





	1. Disturbance

“What do _you_ want?” Shizuo Heiwajima snarls into his phone.

 _“Shizu-chan,”_ the smooth, ever-teasing voice of the informant is slightly muffled by the speakers. _“How have you been?”_

“Like hell you care,” Shizuo snaps. “And don’t call me _Shizu-chan,_ you bastard. My name is _Shizuo._ Get it through your thick skull.”

Across the line, he hears the informant chuckle. _“Ha. You know, the only thing that makes me happier than finding ways to exploit society is your habit of calling me such affectionate names.”_

“Why, you…” His hands have curled into fists. It hasn’t even been a minute and he can already feel the vein in his forehead popping. _Damn this flea…_

 _“As much as I’d like to flirt, this isn’t why I called,”_ Izaya sighs across the line. _“But I’m thrilled to see that I can excite you just by appearing on your screen.”_

“Cut the crap. Unless you _wanna_ die, that is,” the blonde bodyguard snarls. “Why _did_ you call?”

_“Why are you so worked up? Perhaps I just wanted to hear the sweet sound of your voice. When you get angry, it has the musical ring of a bulldozer.”_

Damn it, this flea was really testing his patience. “I’m going to hang up unless you actually have something interesting to say.” _I’m probably going to hang up regardless,_ he thinks to himself. Nothing Izaya was involved in was healthy, and if he had called the bodyguard with any motive in mind, it wasn’t good news.

_“Ah, you’re so demanding. All right, then. I thought I’d inform you that there’ll be… an event in downtown Ikebukuro tonight. I reeeeeeeally think you ought to attend.”_

“Me?”

He can almost hear Izaya’s smirk. _“Just be there by sundown, Shizu-chan.”_

The call ends. The ex-bartender stares at his phone, baffled. _What the hell?_

“I bet I can guess who that was,” Tom Tanaka remarks, folding his arms and watching his bodyguard fume.

“Damn it.” Shizuo clenches his fingers, doing his best to keep the phone from crushing beneath his hand. _Goddamn punk… I’m gonna rip him apart and hang him by the-_

“What’d he want?” his employer asks, interrupting Shizuo’s pleasant vision of how _lovely_ Izaya would look with all his limbs broken.

“I don’t know. More harassment.” _Little brat._

“Ah, really?” Tom tenses, preparing for a rampage.

“Stupid flea.” Shizuo drives his foot into a wall, needing a release for his irritation. “God, he gets on my _nerves!_ The next time I see him, I swear I’m gonna smash his teeth out, and—oh, wait, Tom. Can we stop by downtown later tonight?”

“Huh?” The sudden question catches the tax collector off guard. “I mean, I guess… Why, you want to go to Russia Sushi?”

“No. I’ve got to protect all the innocent bystanders from Izaya’s dirty little schemes.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and stalks down the street.

“Shizuo Heiwajima, defender of justice. That has a nice ring to it,” Tom says with a chuckle, desperately attempting to lighten the mood of his grumpy employee before he throws a trash can at someone. He glances at Shizuo’s face in hopes that his comment had a positive effect.

The blonde bodyguard stares straight ahead with zero interest in his old schoolmate’s comment.

 _Goddamn it._ The tax collector sighs and turns away as Shizuo pulls out a new cigarette.

* * *

Sitting alone in a tower café, Izaya Orihara watches the beast stomping off like a five-year-old on the streets below. While he didn’t have audio, just judging by Shizuo’s body language alone, Izaya was 99.9% confident that he had successfully accomplished both of his two goals – getting the monster’s attention to the event later, and pissing him off while he had the opportunity. _What a temper, Shizu-chan._

The informant sighs, leaning back against the pillows of the couch. He smirks to himself, poking at the lopsided ice cubes in his drink. Whatever happened that night in the city was going to be _hella_ fun if he could drag the blonde into it. Izaya didn’t particularly believe Shizu-chan was good for anything, but he _certainly_ did serve to ease his boredom at times.

Except there was one small issue that was getting on his nerves.

 _Damn it._ His glee over taunting Shizu-chan rapidly drains as he reminds himself of the situation. This _event..._ wasn’t one he’d planned, or even anticipated. It had started, seemingly, out of nowhere.

Unusually irate, Izaya takes out his phone and rechecks the data he had carefully evaluated. No, no, none of this was right. None of this made any _sense._ Someone else was on his turf, orchestrating _his_ wars and plotting _his_ schemes. He’d run into these kinds of problems before – meddling script kiddies, aspiring informants, underworld assassins – but those annoyances usually resolved themselves fairly swiftly and with little effort on his part. But this… this _maggot_ that had burrowed into the city wasn’t going away. It had already been three weeks, and nothing had been resolved.

In fact, it seemed like someone was going through a lot of trouble to keep whatever was happening hushed.

The Dollars were starting to pick up on something, too. The online forums were teeming with questions about a suspicious meetup supposedly happening in the city that night. Although the massive amount of members in the online gang was its greatest strength, it had proven to also be its greatest weakness. Almost like a concentrated social media site, the members of the colorless gang were easily susceptible to false information, rumor, and acted as a wonderful resource for hearing about city events. In fact, one of Izaya’s favorite hobbies – when he wasn’t busy trying to figure out how to kill Shizu-chan – was toying with the Dollars by masquerading as one himself. But now, some outsider was doing the same. “Not on my watch…” Izaya hisses under his breath as he turns his phone off and stands.

The sun sinks lower into the sky as the info broker makes his way back to his own apartment. So far, all he could get at were hints at some sort of meetup happening that evening. Exactly _why,_ he didn’t know yet – but there had sure as hell been an awful lot of unusual talk regarding Shizuo. Not that it bothered him that the beast might _finally be getting_ some negative attention, of course. For as long as they’d known each other, Shizuo had gotten nothing but praise and support despite his glaringly obvious flaw, while _he,_ on the other hand, had been mocked and unwanted and attacked.

 _It’s no good to get worked up._ The informant lets out a sigh, straightening his shoulders and pushing Shizu-chan out of his thoughts. For now, he had to get home, research, dig up information and arm himself with it.

“You look upset,” Mairu Orihara catches up to her brother, grinning at him.

He rolls his eyes. _Fantastic._ The clones were here. “What do you two want?”

“Gosh, so prickly. What’s wrong?” Mairu asks.

“Nothing.”

“Something’s wrong,” Kururi speaks up quietly from behind her twin sister. “We can tell.”

“Look, why don’t you go find somewhere else to stir up trouble? I’m busy with a project.”

“Sounds mysterious!” Mairu gasps, clutching her brother’s arm.

“Mairu-!” He tries to shake her off, but her grip is like iron. He rolls his eyes. _What a pain._

“We heard Shizuo talking about you today!”

“Shizu-chan?” His internal eye-rolling abruptly stops. “You were with him?”

“Just passing by on the street. He told Tom Tanaka that you had called him.”

“Oh. Well, it really is _lovely_ that he has support, isn’t it? That monster…” Izaya scowls.

“I didn’t know you had each other’s numbers.”

“I have everyone’s number,” comes the smooth reply. _Ahhh._ That felt good. He’d practiced that one a couple times at home. “Anyway, it’s none of your business, Mairu. Take your sister and go find someone else to harass.”

“Aww, but I want to know why you called him!” Mairu whines, tugging on his sleeve. “Come on…”

Sisters or not, the clones were really starting to get on his nerves. “Enough!” Izaya rips his arm away. “I said, g _et lost.”_ He stalks off, leaving the two girls staring after him.

“What’s his problem?” Mairu sighs, setting her hands on her hips.

“You asked him about Shizuo,” Kururi softly suggests, tugging at a strand of her hair.

A few feet ahead, Izaya grits his teeth and pretends not to hear.

* * *

Back before his computer screen, the informant scrolls through sites and archives, typing in keywords and sending out messages to those who owed him a favor. The chatrooms are aflame with buzz about the mysterious meeting in the city, and the name _Shizuo Heiwajima_ is becoming a source of heated conversation. _Why?_ Every potential lead had turned in negative results… results that looked like they had been custom-designed to keep him in the dark. It was almost as if he was battling himself, trying to uncover data. _What the hell…_

Battling himself…

Custom-designed…

_Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuck…_

Izaya had seen this pattern before. _Goddamn it._ No, he knew _exactly_ who was behind this. There was only one person alive able to match and suppress his abilities. _How could I be so blind?_ Silently cursing himself for not realizing it sooner, the informant readjusts his strategy, working at twice the speed he had been before.

_Did you hear about that Shizuo guy?_

_Isn’t he the one with superhuman strength?_

_I hear there’s someone looking for him._

Izaya begins to laugh. A maniacal, ecstatic laugh. Oh, this was perfect. _Perfect._ He couldn’t possibly think of a better way to enjoy himself. Not even his regular games inspecting human reactions could provide such a delightful rush! The thought of being able to stretch his brain against something that was truly worthy sent cold shivers up his spine.

It’s only when his index finger slips off of a key that he realizes he’s shaking.

A disgusting mixture of fear and shock sinks into the pit of his stomach. The shivers, now running through his whole body, were not made of excitement. They were the beacons of pure, raw, undiluted dread.

 _You want to play?_ He clenches his fists, demanding his hands still themselves enough so he could fucking _type._

_Damn._

The informant takes a breath, gathering his senses. Whether it was dread or excitement didn’t matter. _No one_ was getting to Shizuo before he did.

Not even an old acquaintance with a thirst for revenge.


	2. Uprising

Izaya tucks his flickblades into his belt, pulling on his jacket as he watches the city lights flicker through the large windows of his study. He’d managed to pull himself together by the time Namie had returned from an errand, but as he stares at his reflection in the glass window, even _he_ can see that the confident, easy smile seems forced.

_Shit._

“Don’t leave here,” he orders Namie, who is alphabetizing several withdrawn books by the bookshelves.

She glances up, tucking her hair behind an ear. “Huh? I thought you wanted me to go by the--”

“Forget it. Stay inside and lock all the doors.”

His secretary frowns and gets to her feet. “Why, what’s got you spooked? You’re not usually like this…”

 _Tch._ He didn’t need to be asked questions. He needed to _think_. “Just do as I say, Namie. Stay inside, and stay safe.”

“What about Seiji? Should I worry about him?”

“Your brother will be fine. If you get worried, send me a text. But whatever you do, don’t leave.”

“O-okay…”

“Good girl.” He manages a quick smirk at her. “I can’t afford to lose a secretary like you, after all.”

“Hmph. You only use flattery when you want me to obey you.”

“Am I that shallow?”

“Yes, you are.”

 _Yeah, I probably am._ “Well, whatever. I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Hang on. I’m not allowed to leave, but where are _you_ going?” she calls after him.

“Trust me, it’s for your own good. You can turn on the news and watch. I’m sure tonight’s events will be starring _yours truly,_ in some form or another.” He gives a small bow, feeling the familiar fur of his coat tickle against his neck.

“Sure, whatever. Have a good time.”

_Oh, I’m SURE I will._

The door shuts behind him. Like a fucking switch, the adrenaline immediately begins to pump through his veins.

There’s already a steady trickle of people heading into the city square, most scrolling through their phones, undoubtedly members of the Dollars. Ahead, he spots Shizuo and Tom Tanaka, along with Vorona, also heading downtown. He leans into a shadow, unusually jittery. Was it because he knew who was behind this? Or because he knew what could happen? To his dismay, he feels his fingers begin to quiver.

_No. No. Keep your head clear!_

Refusing to acknowledge the fear, Izaya pushes himself forward and cuts through several back alleys to make it to the square, jamming his hands into his pockets to mask the trembling.

* * *

 

Shizuo can’t help but feel that this is all rather strange. “What’s going on?” Vorona asks, her arms folded beside him.

_It’s the flea._

“I dunno,” he responds, shoving thoughts of what he was gonna do to that little brat the next time he saw him aside. “Izaya said there’d be a gathering, but I don’t know what for.” As he passes a group of girls, they point and whisper.

“I see you are popular with the local women, Shizuo,” Vorona says, eyeing the paparazzi.

“Huh? Not to my knowledge…” Shizuo says, frowning. _When the hell have I ever been popular for anything?_ They pass a group of men, next, who also turn and mumble something under their breath.

“Popular with both genders. I see.”

“No!” Shizuo snaps. “I don’t know what’s going on…”

“This is… odd.” Tom frowns. “Are you sure Izaya didn’t mention anything else?”

 _Even if he did, not like it would help._ Sometimes he feels like he and Izaya speak two completely different languages, which sound exactly alike, but mean completely different things.

Shizuo lowers his eyes as he passes another group of gossiping citizens. He had checked the Dollars site that morning, but hadn’t been online since he’d started work that day with Tom. _Maybe there’s something I’ve missed…?_ He pulls out his phone. _If that flea is just screwing around again, I swear…_

He enters the password after two tries (he somehow typed only one C the first time), and stops dead in his tracks.

His name. His name is plastered all over the site. “What… the hell?” he manages to cough out, scrolling through post after post filled with rumor and speculation. _What the actual hell?_

_[The Strongest Man in Ikebukuro – Fact or Fiction?]_

_[Scientific evidence proving why Shizuo Heiwajima’s strength is a fraud]_

_[Describe your encounter with Shizuo Heiwajima!]_

This was bad. This was so fucking bad. Topics ranged from questions about his clothes to discussions about his impact on daily life, to debates on whether or not he actually existed and everything imaginable in between. For a moment, the shock is strong enough to replace any ounce of anger in his system. _Is… this that bastard’s doing?_

“What’s wrong, Shizuo?”

“…I--” Just as he’s about to respond, the power goes out.

At night, the lights from the shops, businesses, and offices in Ikebukuro are enough to create a false sense of day if you don’t look up and notice the darkness looming above. Shizuo freezes as the city turns dark, his senses electrifying. There are several panicked screams from the crowd, and bystanders begin using their phones to illuminate the city square. But the darkness doesn’t last long.

Instead, there’s a blinding flare of light, and the large televisions mounted to the buildings around the city square flicker with static.

Shizuo glances at the restless crowd around him. _I have no idea what the fuck is going on._

There’s another heavy round of static, and white text floats across the screen.

_|I am Masquerade.|_

The audience is a mess of panic, suspicion, excitement, and fear. The television fluctuates between the words and glitches of white.

_|I SEE YOU, IZAYA|_

And there it was. _That bastard… I knew this was somehow his fault._

 _|P &ay wi%H m@.| _The words jolt between symbols, static, and legible text. _|Shizuo Heiwajima is to be mine.|_

“ _Huh?”_ This entire situation is too crowded and dramatic and he’s getting _really_ done with the fancy television tricks. He can feel his blood beginning to boil. _If this is another one of that stupid-ass flea’s attempts to humiliate me, I swear I will bash his head in with a fucking brick._

_|I will|_

_|CORRUPT|_

_|You|_

The screen goes dark. After a moment, the lights return, and the signboards resume their original broadcasts.

_What the fuck has the flea dragged me into._

The crowd murmurs as the wail of sirens begin to fill the night air. In front of him, Vorona’s arms are crossed and the girl taps her foot anxiously on the ground. Tom’s expression is a mix between disbelief and concern. The entire plaza is so crowded and so rowdy that he doesn’t hear the footsteps slowly approaching behind him.

_“Shiiiiiiizu-chan.”_

His fists act almost impulsively as they fly towards the informant’s head. Izaya ducks out of the way just before he lands his blow, regaining his footing a few feet out of reach. The crowd around them pushes back, forming a thick circle of spectators. Several pull their phones out to record, undoubtedly thinking this is the most exciting night of their lives, while others are already trying to flag down the police that are now swarming the plaza. It didn’t matter – the police had long since given up on trying to interfere with their battles throughout the city.

_“Izaaaayaaaa-kuuuun.”_

The smirk he gets in return makes his fists quiver with rage. “I’m so glad you took my phone call seriously and decided to attend tonight’s spectacle.”

“Yeah, no kidding. It’s really great that I came, so I can punch your brains out.”

“Now, now, Shizu-chan. Look!” Izaya points matter-of-factly to a young girl on the sidelines, recording the encounter with a sparkly white phone. “You wouldn’t want to scare all the children who will most _certainly_ be watching this once it goes up on YouTube, would you?” he taps the girl’s phone and gives the bodyguard a poisonous grin.

Shizuo’s fist falters. _I hate him so goddamn much._

“Or, on the completely opposite side of the spectrum, you might actually want to go through with your idea! The camera will have almost a perfect angle of your ugly face when you come charging towards us.”

He is so damn close to losing it. His vision seems to have darkened to a deep shade of red, his muscles ache with desire to snap something in half (preferably Izaya’s neck) and his self-control isn’t going to hold out much longer. With all the restraint he can muster, the blonde steps over to Izaya, removing his glasses to stare down into the informant’s eyes.

Izaya stares right back, his eyes narrowed in delight.

For a moment, even the crowd is still enough that Shizuo can _hear_ his heartbeat furiously thrumming in his chest. The informant’s breath dances across his chin as he leans forward just a hair farther…

 _“Fuck_ you.”

“Likewise.”

His vision blurs and the next thing he knows, he’s squeezing the little insect’s neck with one hand. This is the first time he’s tried _this_ method on the flea, and so far, it’s working surprisingly well, the little brat seeming completely caught off-guard. Izaya chokes and claws at his hand, his face turning slightly red. “Y-you… monst… er…”

Shizuo tightens his grip. “My name,” he growls. “Is _Shizuo._ Not monster. Not beast. Not _Shizu-chan._ Say it.”

“B… beast…”

 _Tighter._ He’s never realized how unbelievably _thin_ Izaya’s neck is. He can feel the blood pumping through his veins, the muscle twitching as he struggles helplessly beneath his hand.

Izaya gags for air, tugging at his wrist. “Shizu… chan… stop…”

“What’s my fucking _name?”_

 _“Hey!”_ Tom grabs his arm. “Stop it, Shizuo! Not here!” he glances around frantically at the bystanders. “You can choke him to death later, but not in front of kids and recording devices.”

 _“Hah?”_ Shizuo turns to his employer.

A sharp pinch causes him to yelp in surprise. He lets go of the informant, who ducks off into the crowd at a record pace and clutches his wounded wrist. _Fucking bastard._ The cut isn’t deep, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel pleasant.

Through the thick circle of bystanders, Shizuo makes out a glimpse of fur lining vanishing into an alleyway.

Tom doesn’t have the strength to stop his bodyguard before he sprints after it.

* * *

_That was a mistake._

This was definitely _not_ his night. Everything had gone terribly wrong.

_Tch._

That was the almost the first time in his entire life he’d felt completely out of control. In _both_ situations. Picking on Shizu-chan ought to have brightened his spirits, but the goddamn brute just happened to pull a new move right when he was most out-of-sorts. Of course.

And he can’t even begin to _think_ about what went down in the square. He needs to get home, get a bath, and _then_ begin to process what had happened. _You swore to yourself you’d always have the upper hand,_ he silently scolds, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. _What the hell was that, Izaya?_

He needs to figure out a way to turn this entire situation into something beneficial. He doesn’t know how, but it’s the only option he’s got.

Walking suddenly seems very tedious. The informant pulls up his hood in a feeble attempt to disappear from the face of the planet. Or, at the very least, blend farther into the shadows.

It doesn’t work.

“Oi, _flea_.”

_Damn it._

“What the _hell_ was _that?”_ Shizuo holds up his bloody hand.

 _Of course, a single cut wouldn’t stop him._ Taunting Shizu-chan earlier hadn’t just been a mistake. It had been a _terrible life decision._ The blonde bodyguard was storming towards him with his fists clenched and Izaya really, _really_ didn’t feel like getting into it right now.

 _“Hey!_ I asked you a fucking _question.”_

The informant isn’t sure whether he’s about to pass out or vomit. His body feels too numb to tell the difference. His throat aches from being strangled half to death and his heartbeat is thrumming in his ears. “Shizu-chan, I’m going to tell you exactly what you should do.” He flashes the monster the best smile he can muster. “You’re going to leave Ikebukuro and stay out of my way for the next several months.”

“Like _hell_ I am. Where the fuck is this coming from?”

“Believe me, I’m not happy about the decision either. I’d love it if you stuck around so I could finally exterminate you.” He doesn’t like how close the monster is getting, especially after what happened a few minutes ago. _“Hey._ Try anything and I’ll cut you more than once, this time.”

When he doesn’t stop approaching, Izaya scowls. He extends his knife as the beast draws closer. “Stay away.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” Shizuo snaps. “What’s going on, what have you done?”

“I haven’t _done_ anything,” Izaya retorts. “And that’s exactly the problem.” His usually even tone is filled with frustration. _Damn it. I hate my voice when I get upset._

“Don’t lie to me, I know you know something about what’s going on.”

“If I did, I would have been able to prevent this.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?”

This beast is _testing his patience._

“I…” Izaya shakes his head. “It’s the truth. Take it or leave it.”

Shizuo lets out a frustrated sigh and folds his arms. “So, you’re telling me, after you called me and told me to come down, that you don’t know why my name was up there? _Or_ why the Dollars are so focused on me?”

_This whole day was a mistake._

“Not yet.” Izaya tenses. He hates – he absolutely _hates –_ admitting that. “But I will.”

“Listen, Izaya,” Shizuo approaches him slowly, and the informant’s arm tenses in anticipation. “I really hate your guts, and if I find out you’re lying to me, I _swear_ I’m gonna send you to hell a thousand times over. However-!” He grabs the informant by the cuff of his jacket. Izaya lifts the blade of his knife to Shizuo’s throat, the tip gently pressing into the bodyguard’s skin. His heart is pounding, and it takes all of his courage not to raise a protective hand against his neck.

“However?” he asks, the smooth, even tone of his voice reconstructed. _That’s better. Keep it together._

“You’re _you,_ and that means you must know _something._ Do you think I’m stupid? So stop being so goddamn self-righteous and _spill it.”_

 _Spill it, huh?_ The truth was too vulnerable to admit.

But vulnerability was something he was used to covering up.

“Hm.” Izaya smirks, stepping out of Shizuo’s grip. _I’ve made a thousand mistakes tonight. And I’m about to make another._ “You want to make a deal, then?”

“What deal?”

 _Shizu-chan is nervous_. “I’ll tell you what I know about what’s happening if it concerns you.” The informant pockets his blade. _He’s nervous, and I can’t believe I’m about to ask this._ “In return, you’ll lend me your strength if I need it.”

The beast blinks. “Hah… Have you gone insane?”

“Ha. No, not yet.” Izaya looks Shizuo in the eye. “Don’t get me wrong. I hate you, Shizu-chan,” he purrs. “And I don’t care if I die trying to bring you down. But to do that… I need to be alive to begin with.”

He realizes he’s shaking again a second too late.

“You’re… scared,” Shizuo realizes, his eyes transfixed on the informant’s trembling hands.

 _Fuck._ Izaya clenches his jaw. “I am not. Get out of my sight, monster.”

“Hmph.” Something in Shizuo’s eyes changes. For once, he doesn’t look like a mindless, dumb beast. He seems almost… acceptant.

_My whole life was a mistake._

“ _Fine_ , you bastard. I’ll play along. But if you break your _promise_ , I’ll break your _body,_ got it?” The two turn away from each other, heading in opposite directions as the blaring of police sirens continues to break through the still night air.

“I’ve got your number. I’ll be in touch,” Izaya calls quietly, as he hugs his coat close to his body.

Shizuo gives a low grunt in reply.

_I really, really hate that beast._


	3. Revelation

The city is a mess of gossip, rumor and superstition. Izaya arrives home to find Namie curled up on the couch, black hair splayed over the cushions, her phone on beside her. He quietly picks it up and scrolls through twelve texts she sent, and he never received. He frowns. So even the cell towers had been momentarily offline?

Sure enough, his phone starts buzzing with the missed messages a few moments later.

_“The TV shut off. Where are you?”_

_“Seiji’s not responding to his texts either.”_

_“It’s pitch-black here.”_

_“Why aren’t you responding?”_

_“Are my messages not going through…?”_

_“I’m worried about you.”_

_“And for Seiji. I’m scared, Izaya. What’s happening?”_

_“If I leave to look for you, will you be angry?”_

_“I can’t see anything. The lights are still off.”_

_“I’m going to go look for some candles or a flashlight.”_

_“You better explain everything when you get home.”_

_“I don’t know what to do…”_

_I was too reckless tonight._ Not that it was his fault; he didn’t see how he could have _not_ been reckless, considering the setup. But the reprimanding voice in the back of his head won’t take that for an answer. _It doesn’t matter. You should have been prepared for this, and had control over the setup before it even began._

He sighs and sets a hand on Namie’s shoulder. She stirs and blinks open an eye. “You’re back?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, the cell towers were down. I didn’t anticipate that.”

“It’s not your fault.” She sits up, and rubs her eyes. “But it _was_ a careless mistake.”

 _Yeah, no fucking kidding._ The night had been _full_ of careless mistakes.

“I’m aware of that.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he turns to walk toward his desk. “I’m going to be… working a lot for the next several days, Namie.”

“No, what _happened?”_ When he turns to her quizzically, she taps her neck for elaboration.

 _Shit._ Izaya pulls off his coat and changes course from his desk to the bathroom. As he flips on the lights, dread piles up in his stomach, bracing himself for what he’ll undoubtedly see.

The bruising is awful.

His skin is too pale and Shizuo’s grip had been too strong. Hues of black, green, purple and blue are painted over his neck, mixing together in a colorful display of the undying hatred they share for one another. He realizes he’s lucky, as he examines the damage more closely. A bit more force and he might have wound up on a stretcher.

He tries to tilt his neck to see beneath his chin, but a sharp stab of pain shooting up from his jugular quickly makes him rethink the idea. _How could you let him do this to you?_ The thick imprint was roughly the shape of Shizuo’s hand which, against his neck, was enormous. He would have to cover it up somehow.

“Namie!”

She leans against the doorframe, arms folded, a half-amused expression on her face. “What is it?”

“You’re fairly versed in makeup, aren’t you?”

“Just a bit, why?”

“I need to cover this up somehow.”

She sighs and pushes herself off of the wall. “Let me see it.”

Warily, he lets her approach and pull the neck of his shirt down to examine the damage, flinching whenever her fingers brush over the tender wounds. “You can try, but that’s going to be a _lot_ of thick coverage.”

_I guess there’s no choice…_

The makeup box the informant keeps under the sink has only ever been used once before, most of the contents purchased out of curiosity, but it had turned out to be useful for a job a while back. He pulls it out (much to Namie’s surprise, who stares at it for a moment wondering why on earth he has three sticks of eyeliner and five sets of false eyelashes stashed beneath his counter) and rummages through the kit until he finds what he needs. He pockets the bottle of foundation and the half-used tube of concealer, thanking his past self for keeping them rather than tossing them out.

“So are you going to tell me how you acquired those nasty bruises?” the secretary asks, clearing her throat.

He watches her for a minute, running evaluations through his head. Namie was valuable. Of all the people in his life, she was one of the ones that held the most worth at the moment. Her assistance was useful, but…

 _In the long run, I cannot afford to lose her_. Not only that, but in this situation, he could work ten times faster if he had the luxury of being alone and he’d operated without a secretary for years before she came along. Regathering his confidence, he steps past her, over to his desk and comfy office chair. Ignoring her question, he says, “For the next week or so, you don’t have to come in to work if you don’t want to.”

“Huh?” she looks surprised. And, now that she wears something other than that usual, stone-faced stare, she looks tired. _Humans look less beautiful when they’re tired_.

“I’m telling you to take a holiday. Go meet up with your brother, go to the hot springs, go to Hawaii, I don’t care. I’ll text you if I need anything.”

“…Are you being serious?”

Izaya narrows his eyes, re-weighing his options. As much as he hates losing Namie’s help around the house, he knows he can’t have her here for the time being. “Yes.”

“I… see.” She doesn’t look like she’s buying it. “And are you going to tell me what’s happened to make you so scared?”

His surprise at her bold question is rapidly replaced by the frustration he’s suppressed all evening. “I’m not scared!” He slams his fist on the desk. “Why does everyone think that?”

“Well…” she trails off, folding her arms.

 _“Well?”_ he demands, when she doesn’t respond.

The secretary flinches slightly at his tone. “Nevermind. I appreciate the holiday.” She gathers her things wordlessly and moves toward the door.

Izaya watches, temper boiling. _I’m NOT scared._ Somehow, lying to himself doesn’t make him feel any better this time. He blows out a breath as Namie gives a stiff bow. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Namie,” Izaya calls after her as she steps out of the room.

“Yes?”

He flips out one of his knives, running a thumb along the side of the polished silver before aiming it towards her. “If you think that a holiday means you can reveal information about me or about what you have seen here to anyone, you are sorely mistaken. You are a _wonderful_ help and I would _greatly_ hate having to replace you. Are we clear?”

“Tch. I know that,” she snaps, shooting him a glare. “Who do you think I am? I’m not stupid enough to do that.”

“Hm.” _We’ll see._ He gives her a tight smile. “All right.”

Muttering something under her breath, Namie shuts and locks the door behind her.

Sitting at his desk, the power restored and his fingers itching to work, Izaya cracks his knuckles and sets two chess kings opposite each other on the empty checkerboard beside the monitor. _Let the game commence._

Just before he begins his research, he moves the black king forward one square.

* * *

Shizuo can’t remember the last time the police and city officials got this involved in a public disturbance. The streets are teeming with officers, security specialists, and even government agents in black suits and sunglasses. They pull aside civilians, questioning and recording statements. Reporters and photographers arrive in black vans with bags of equipment, scrambling to get a grasp on the breaking news.

_You’ll lend me your strength if I need it._

He still wasn’t sure whether or not the flea had actually been serious. He’d never, in a million years, dreamed that _Izaya_ of all people would propose a trade like that. Especially with _him._ The entire thing, really, was wholly unbelievable and fucking _stupid_ and a part of him was cursing himself for not squashing the little bug when he had the chance but…

Something about the way Izaya had been... _shaking…_ was enough to make him glad he didn’t push things further.

_What the hell is even happening?_

Shizuo spots Mikado through the crowd. _Perfect._ He wasn’t sure exactly why or how but the young boy always seemed to be in the loop, especially when it came to the Dollars. He pushes past hordes of chatting bystanders and calls his name. “Mikado!”

The young boy turns, clicking of his cellphone. “Oh, Shizuo.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

“I have no idea,” Mikado sighs, shaking his head. “The Dollars have been going crazy recently. I can’t understand all the talk about this event, the talk about you, or find the source of all of it. It’s very weird.”

 _Yeah, no fucking kidding._ “So you saw it, too. Do you have any theory why they were talking about me?”

“Well, it seems like you’re a wanted man. Maybe not by the police, but by another organization… or something like that? I’m just theorizing, here.”

“No, that’s good. In your theory, why are they after me?”

“Well, if I had to guess… You have some fairly unusual abilities, Shizuo,” Mikado reminds him, pocketing his phone. “I’m sure that alone can make you a target.”

“I’m not that famous,” Shizuo grunts.

Mikado laughs a little. “Maybe not. But maybe you’re also underestimating how far rumors can travel.”

He doesn’t particularly like where this conversation is headed. When he doesn’t respond, the young student clears his throat. “Will you be all right, on your own? Whatever the case, it does look like someone could have bad intentions toward you.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve dealt with the flea for years. How could anything possibly be worse than that? Don’t worry about me.”

“All right, but just let me know if you need anything.” Mikado offers with a small smile. “Where are you headed now?”

“I don’t know. Home, I guess. There’s not much else I can do. Besides…” he trails off, thinking of Izaya’s face earlier. Thinking of the informant’s shaking hands. “I feel like this is someone else’s battle.”

“You mean Izaya’s?”

Shizuo blinks at the boy. “You’re pretty quick.”

“Well, whoever hacked the system did mention his name.”

“I don’t know what that bastard is planning, or why I’m getting dragged into his mess, but whatever it is, it’s his problem. If someone comes after me… I’ll deal with it then.” He hopes his voice doesn’t give away how internally worried he actually is.

“That’s… brave of you.”

“Ha. Call it whatever you want. Anyway, you better get home.” The bodyguard glances around at the thick crowd, which has begun to resist the police involvement. “This looks like it could turn violent.”

“Yeah, I’m headed out now. See you later.” With a small bow, Mikado starts to head off towards a side street.

“Get home safe,” Shizuo calls with a wave.

He turns away from the churning crowds and heads off into the darkness.

* * *

Izaya runs his hands through his hair, exhaling a long sigh. Beside him, his phone clock turns to _5:00 AM._

 _Eh, who needs sleep._ He’s been working tirelessly all night. It’s been exhausting, but it was certainly, _certainly_ worth it. Between the news stories, police inquiries, witness statements and tech analyzers, the web had become a goldmine of rich new info just waiting to be traced.

He scans the lines of text in the locked document on his computer. The information he had at last acquired had been forbiddingly hard to find, but he was meticulous and _always_ found what he wanted, no matter how careful the enemy had been at hiding it.

Izaya sends the documents to print two copies, and gets up to pour himself something to drink. Between the bruising and working all night, just the slightest bit of motion from his neck sends sparks of pain up the sides of his throat. _Argh. That brute._

Tea, he decides, sounds nice. As the informant distracts himself from the pain by brewing a cup of vanilla red, he can’t help but think of how absolutely _disgusting_ it is that Shizuo has put his filthy, unwashed, unkempt hands on _his_ neck. As he thinks about it more, he nearly starts to retch. What on earth had that monster touched with those hands before he smeared them all over his skin? A pang of dismay pierces his stomach when he realizes he forgot to take his nightly bath before beginning to work. He’s still in the same clothes, too.

 _Filthy, tainted, contaminated._ He can’t remember the last time he felt so uncomfortable in his own skin. For Izaya, cleanliness was a sign of beauty, and beauty commanded respect. He hasn’t brushed his hair, either. Or his teeth.

The more he realizes the state he’s in, the more he realizes he needs to do something about it _immediately._ He carries the cup of tea with him into the bathroom to refresh and reconstruct his perfect image, armed with the bottle of foundation and concealer for covering up the marks the beast had left on his skin.

As he flips on the lights, his eyes widen slightly in horror. While, miraculously, it hasn’t begun to swell, the bruising has turned dark and ugly. Shizuo’s handprint is _inked_ onto his neck, over his collarbones, beneath his chin. _No, no, no, no, no…_ He didn’t _want_ this… this _brand_ on his body. The informant sets his tea down on the sink and gently brushes a fingertip against the blue-green area. _Please tell me it’s not…_ “Argh!”

With a strangled cry, he rips his hand away so fast it crashes against the smooth white and black tiles of the wall. A deep ache shoots up through his skin, causing his head to throb and his shoulders to ache. So, that monster had done some damage, after all.

_I fucked up._

Shit. Shit. He had fucked up so goddamn badly. _Videos are probably all over the internet already, too._

He cranks the shower handle all the way up to hot and pulls a fresh towel off of the rack. While the water heats, he sets a fresh stack of clothes atop the lid of the toilet and peels off the ones that reek with sweat and last night’s adrenaline-filled air.

The steaming water has never felt so good, running over his bare skin. It’s painful, too, when it hits his neck, but the pain is well worth the cleansing sensation that manages to miraculously settle his anxious nerves.

He exits the shower feeling remarkably better than when he entered.

Carefully, tenderly, Izaya dries himself and pulls on the fresh set of clothes. The bruising is still there when he glances at his reflection in the mirror, but at least he doesn’t feel filthy anymore.

_Stupid beast._

It takes him almost half an hour to paste and blend the makeup into his pale skin. When he's finished, tints of sickly green still remain visible beneath his chin, making it look like his neck has grown some sort of faint fungal disease. Namie had been right. The coverage wasn't nearly enough. With his hood up, though, it might be able to pass if no one looked too closely.

_Stupid, goddamn brute._

As he exits the bathroom, the sun just barely begins to rise over the skyscrapers. On the streets below, businesses begin to open and the morning traffic thickens by stoplights.

The first rays of daylight hit his face, and the informant takes a deep, stabilizing breath. _Okay. Okay. I’m okay._

Remembering the documents he had sent to the printer, Izaya makes his way over to the machine. Sipping what’s left of his tea, he inserts the copies into separate envelopes, one for him to use and one to keep for his records.

 “Masquerade… that name doesn’t suit you,” Izaya sighs, lifting the photo of a young man with white hair to the light. “You never could keep your emotions hidden.”

_I never thought we’d meet again like this._

His computer beeps, and the informant sets the photo down, along with the empty mug. _What now?_

He curses as he reads the message, and pulls on his jacket. “So he’s going to lead me on a scavenger hunt. How fun.”

It takes him approximately five minutes to think out, prepare, and direct his orders regarding the events that he predicts will transpire. The only out-of-place pawn was the one he owed the relentless throbbing in his neck to.

_I need to make sure that brute stays away._

His plans were always flawless until the monster arrived to fuck everything up.

 _What would Shizu-chan think? That a promise is a promise?_ Truthfully, the blonde bodyguard _did_ seem to want to stay out of it. He’d likely be satisfied with a phone call to keep him updated on the situation. While pleasing that monster wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to do, the stakes were too high to have him crashing into whatever fragile reasoning this was all built on.

The informant smiles to himself, as he runs his hands over the blades hidden throughout his coat. Please Shizu-chan? As if. After all, the request for a temporary cease-fire _had_ been his idea. The least he could do – and all he _would_ be doing – was proving that he was willing to conform to the truce by upholding his end of the bargain.

Shizu-chan’s phone rings several times, but goes to voicemail.

He hates to admit it, but he can’t help but be slightly disappointed at not being able to taunt the beast directly.

“…Shizu-chan. It’s me. I hope you’re having a wonderful morning. Listen, I found who has been spreading rumors about you over the internet. If you could, I’d like you to lay low and just leave him to me.”

The throbbing in his neck should be enough to make him stop there, but _oh_ how he loves it when he makes that brute show his real colors.

“…In other words, just continue being the clueless beast you are and everything will work out smoothly.”

There’s a click on the other end. Shizuo’s voice rumbles over the speaker. _“Who’s a clueless beast, you bastard?”_

 _I knew he’d take the bait._ “Ah, Shizu-chan. So you _are_ awake, then. You weren’t just ignoring me, I hope?”

“ _It’s barely six in the morning, you idiot. I was **sleeping**.”_

“Oh.”

 _“Agh…”_ Shizuo groans. _“Being insulted first thing in the morning is really **not** a great start to my day.”_

“I was only being honest, Shizu-chan.”

_“Shut up and tell me why you called. What do you know?”_

“What do I know? Why, I… don’t think it’s wise to share that information.” He’s only half-teasing, that time.

_“Oh, you don’t think it’s wise? Well, unless you want me to break both of your legs next time we meet, I seriously suggest you reconsider your answer.”_

What a stubborn, ugly monster. “No. This is for your own safety, Shizu-chan.”

_“Since when do you care about my safety?”_

“Well, since I want to be the one to kill you, I really would hate for something else to get in the way.”

_“Right. So it’s all about you, as usual.”_

“Look, you’ll be fine if you just behave normally and don’t get involved.”

_“…Should I believe that?”_

“If you’re worried about your safety, then yes, you should.”

“ _And if I’m worried about the city’s safety?”_

“Well, I commend your chivalrous heart, but there’s nothing you’re able to do. This is between me and an old… er, friend. I know how to handle it.”

_“…For your sake, I certainly hope so.”_

“It’s fine. Just leave everything to me and go destroy something, like you do best. Have a good morning.”

Izaya clicks off his phone and leans against the wall, tightening his hands. Shizuo’s last comment fills him with unwelcome dread. _You stupid beast, of **course** I can handle it._

Even in his head, the words sound weak.

 _What is this?_ He stares yet again at the slight quiver in his wrists. It wasn’t like him to be so anxious. Then again, it wasn’t normal for him to be the one at a disadvantage, either.

Working up the self-confidence to go out, Izaya shoves his hands into his pockets. _I’ll show you **exactly** who can handle this, Shizu-chan. _No way was he ever letting that brute or anyone else think that they’d overestimated his abilities. Was it stubborn? Perhaps. But he’d built up too much to let it all come crumbling down now.


	4. Reunion

The abandoned warehouse in the more industrial part of town looks even more uninviting than usual to Izaya as he steps up to the metal gates, running over his plans in his head. A nearby camera swivels to fixate on him as he pushes open the rusty bars, heart fluttering a bit. He’d managed to calm down somewhat between leaving his apartment and the long walk across town, and standing before the enormous building, he feels the familiar cool sense of false confidence slide over him like a mask. _I can do this. I’m still Izaya Orihara, after all._

Muscles tense, the informant starts toward the doors. Rain splatters the pavement beneath his feet and washes loose dirt into the gutters beneath the sidewalk. His coat is soaked, the fur lining dripping water onto the tip of his nose. Around his neck, the makeup feels sticky and stale, like a second skin. Turning his head still hurts and his stiff shoulders complain with every step nearer to the dilapidated building, but there’s not much he can do besides gritting his teeth and dealing with it. _Did that beast **really** have to do that? _Talk about unfortunate timing.

A nearby lamppost flickers as he pushes open the doors to the old research facility, and steps out of the rain onto the dimly-lit tiles.

A dead, dreadfully suspenseful silence envelops him.

Curling his fists, the informant steps forward, only to reel back again. It’s nothing, it’s undetectable, just a microscopic shift in air pressure and a scuffing noise almost too faint to detect, but it’s enough to cause him to leap back into the doorway of the warehouse and narrowly avoid the dart that buries itself in the cracks on the concrete wall. He hisses out a breath, feeling the adrenaline kick in and his pride inflate. _Heh. Sure, I’ll play your game._

A click echoes through the cavernous warehouse. A laugh. _“You always tease Shizuo Heiwajima for behaving like an animal, yet your instincts are far more primal than his.”_ The sound is distorted and heavy.

Something nostalgic pings inside the informant’s heart at the sound. _That’s right. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?_

“A voice changer won’t hide you, _Masquerade.”_ Izaya gets to his feet and moves forward, carefully scanning his path for any traps. Several muscular thugs-for-hire attempt to tackle him as he rounds a corner, but they’re far too cumbersome to land a blow.

 _“Waltzing in here like you’re still a king… do you have any idea how **dead** you are?” _ A puff of scalding steam erupts from a nearby pipe. The whistling turn of valves was enough to make Izaya hit the floor, but not fast enough. He grits his teeth in pain, forehead slightly singed by the vapor as his neck screams in agony.

Somehow, the way his shoulders are throbbing and his head is reeling almost seems enjoyable. Like it was proof of the devastation he knew was at stake.

“If you want to kill me, why not just do it already?” Izaya retorts, pushing himself back up when the pressure from the pipe dies down. _Ow._ His stiff jugular felt like it had taken another beating from Shizu-chan. “You’re dragging this out on purpose.”

 _“Your pain gives me the utmost pleasure,”_ Masquerade’s voice rumbles through the speakers, muffled by the voice changer. _“I’ll kill you when I feel like it.”_

Now, _that_ wouldn’t do. “Despite what you seem to think,” Izaya snaps, ducking a blow from another round of thugs. “I’m not actually that easy to kill.” He kicks down his opponent and turns down two more empty shelving units. _Just ask Shizu-chan,_ he wants to say, but catches himself before the words leave his mouth. He didn’t want the brute interfering with his plans today, and even mentioning his name felt like it would taint his perfect setup. Or, worse, summon the beast like some sort of demonic ritual.

Masquerade’s distorted laugh sends an uncomfortable sense of uneasiness through the informant’s core. _“What’s gotten into you? You always used to rant about how fragile human life is. What makes you any different?”_

“All humans fight for self-preservation when put in extreme situations.” Izaya sprints down a hallway only to see a set of explosives at the end. _Crap._ He skids to a halt and jumps behind a metal shelf just as the timer beeps. There’s a thundering crack, and smoke fills the air.

Izaya gasps for breath on the floor, lungs burning. His eyes sting, his black coat is covered in ash. And his _neck._ He can’t even lift his chin from the dirty, gravel-speckled floor. “So in that case,” he coughs, the scuff of footsteps faintly audible through the ringing in his ears. “I’m no different at all.”

He manages to make out a pair of white boots through his watering eyes. _I wish I could look him in the eye._ “It’s been a long time,” he rasps with a smile. “Good to see you again, Ichiru.”

Ichiru digs his heel into Izaya’s limp hand. The informant winces, but it hurts less than it ought to. That’s when he notices the shard of metal in his arm, and the thin pool of blood that has begun to form around it.

_Goddamn it._

“I’m going to destroy you,” Ichiru growls. His breaths are loud and his voice is muffled – signs of a gas mask.

The world begins to spin. Resolved to his current situation, the informant sets his cheek against the cold floor. His old friend lifts his foot from Izaya’s hand and hovers it above the metal shard in his injured arm. “That explosion was careless. The police will be here soon,” Izaya mumbles. “You should clear out while you can.”

“Worrying for me now? Don’t make me sick.”

 _Like hell I am._ “Why are you here, Ichiru?”

“Haven’t I made that clear?”

“To destroy me, yes, that’s right.” He sneers up at his old acquaintance. “What a mundane goal.”

Ichiru slams his foot down on the metal protruding from Izaya’s arm. The informant gives a strangled cry as dazzling white spots swarm his vision. “You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in.”

Izaya clenches his fists, breathing hard through his teeth. _Keep it together. Keep it together._ The pain in his neck now is nothing compared to the pure _fire_ in his arm. “Whatever you want to do to me, fine,” he hisses. “Just leave others out of this.”

“By _others,_ you mean _Shizuo Heiwajima,_ am I right?”

Is that who he meant? Izaya isn’t sure.

“Like I’d be so blind to ignore your passionate obsession with him,” Ichiru snaps. “I’m not an idiot.”

 _Passionate obsession?_ Those words made him feel queasy. Or perhaps it was the onset of shock from his wound. “I don’t have any attachment to him. On the contrary, I’d like it if I could-”

“Your desire to kill him, if that’s what it really is, is attachment enough.” Ichiru twists his heel as Izaya’s left arm goes completely numb. He chokes on a scream. _Damn it._ “I’ll bring you down, and I’ll bring your whole world down with you. The collateral damage you’ll manage to deal is _remarkable_.”

“Damn… you…” He can’t think anymore. The entire world has gone hazy. With his last bit of strength, the informant reaches into his coat with his spare hand and runs a finger over the screen of his phone, nestled deep in his pocket. _Go to hell._

Just as Ichiru lifts his foot for another stomp on the informant’s injury, something slams into him and knocks him away.

 _Ahhhh._ Izaya loosens his grip on the phone in his pocket. _Of course he would show up._ The world begins to darken. The informant manages to make out the blurry outline of a bartender’s uniform and familiar cursing through the ringing in his ears before his body goes limp, mouth full of his own blood.

* * *

It’s a rare sight to see Izaya at someone’s feet.

The dumpster he threw at the man in white rests battered against the concrete wall, the slim figure pulling himself out from beneath it. He coughs slightly, his voice chipped through a pristine white gas mask. “I see the rumors about your strength aren’t unfounded,” he manages, standing up once more.

_What the hell has that stupid flea done?_

“Start talking unless you want another one thrown at you.”

The man chuckles, adjusting his now-tattered white suit. “How hostile.”

“I’m not joking. Who are you, and what do you want with that bastard?”

“Izaya?” the man in the gas mask laughs. “You’re worried about him? How sweet.”

“I want to know what the hell is going on, and you’re going to be the one to tell me!” Shizuo shouts, slamming his fist against a fallen metal bar. The entire floor trembles a little. He’s feeling unusually anxious. His temper has never been all that steady, but when out with Tom Tanaka, he could at least listen to rants and silently admire the desperation of question-dodgers with a varying amount of patience before the street signs started flying. Now, for some reason, he was already prepared to lift up one of the fallen concrete beams and send the man into orbit with a good solid swing. Perhaps it’s because this man had been purposely targeting him to get at Izaya. Perhaps he was just afraid.

But neither of those things fit the bill very well.

No, the detail that was most unusual about this, the detail that had his senses on fire and his fists clenched, was the informant’s crumpled body and the pool of blood steadily thickening around his arm. _What the actual fuck._ Izaya _had_ been acting ridiculously strange, and this was the last straw.

“You should take him to a hospital,” the man in white breathes through his gas mask, following Shizuo’s gaze. “But don’t worry, he’ll recover quickly. He even seemed to be enjoying it before he shut off on me.” The man shakes his head in disappointment and kneels to flick the shard of metal lodged in the informant’s arm.

“Sure didn’t seem like he was enjoying it,” Shizuo growls as he watches the shimmering scarlet pool slip along the cracked tiles.

“He tries to deny it,” the man sighs through his mask, shaking his head and pushing back a strand of long, silvery hair. “But he always was a masochist.”

 _Izaya? A masochist?_ “You talk like you know him.”

“I know him better than he knows himself.”

 _Spare me the fucking drama._ “This is the last time I’m asking politely. Who are you?”

“Ah, yes. I suppose it’s time I introduce myself. I’m Masquerade. I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Shizuo.”

Before he can even register his own actions, Shizuo’s foot connects solidly against Masquerade’s gloved wrist, slamming it down into the concrete with a sickening crack. Masquerade gives a twisted cry. “Don’t touch him again,” Shizuo snarls through gritted teeth. “I wish I could spend more time here, but fortunately for you, the little flea takes first priority. So I guess I’ll just have to kill you quickly.”

“Tch.” Masquerade rips his arm out from beneath Shizuo’s foot – an impressive feat, considering the force – and tumbles a few feet away. He regains his composure, clutching his injured hand, and gives a small bow. “Not today.”

“Hey!” Shizuo roars as Masquerade dashes off into the hallways. “Damn…” he turns back to Izaya, resisting the urge to chase down the man and end him then and there.

_What have you done, flea?_

“You’re always such a pest.” He hoists the informant into his arms just as the shouts of police begin to echo from within the lower stairwell.


	5. Relation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I hope you are enjoying this so far :3 I'm just getting back into the hang of writing and posting my work publicly so please forgive me, my writing style will likely change slightly as it continues to develop and I grow comfortable with the pacing.  
> Also an important note for followers - some of you may have noticed that I've updated all of the content somewhat (nothing serious, I've just fleshed out my writing a bit more with personality and flair as I've grown more confident, but the plot and storyline has all remained the same). I hope this doesn't throw you off-guard and you continue to enjoy it! I'm having a lot of fun writing it.
> 
> Thanks for all the support and feel free to leave a comment on the way out. Enjoy~

When he opens his eyes, he’s half-shocked to be alive.

The soft beeps of a nearby monitor and the distinct scent of sterile sheets are the first things he’s able to register as his vision comes into focus. The sunlight shining in from the window hits the familiar blue and white of a bartender outfit, and reflects off the metal sink.

_Shizu-chan?_ He wants to ask, but all that comes out is a short whine. His face heats a little with embarrassment. _Drugs. Damn._

Shizuo steps over as Izaya groggily attempts to push himself up. The bodyguard stands there for a moment, and the informant feels unusually uncomfortable beneath his gaze. He’s certainly _not_ in the most flattering situation, in a hospital gown beside an IV drip with a deep ache in his left arm (not to mention his neck) and his knives out of reach. In addition, the realization is _rapidly_ dawning on him that _Shizu-chan_ was most likely the one who… _saved my life? Really?_

“What are you doing?” he hisses, when the beast doesn’t turn away.

“I’m waiting for an explanation.”

“Yeah, well, tough, cause you aren’t going to get one.”

“Yeah, well, tough for _you,_ because in case your arrogant ass hasn’t realized it, you’re completely at my mercy at the moment and I’m very, _very_ close to bashing your head against the wall. _So_.” He slams a fist down into the bed beside the informant. “What the _hell_ was that?”

“Hm?” The informant pushes himself up. He didn’t want Shizu-chan here, not _now,_ when he’s barely processed what has happened himself.

“Don’t play innocent with me, you stupid-ass flea. What the hell were you thinking, just traipsing in there without a plan? Without backup? Do you have a death wish?”

Izaya chokes on a laugh. “It didn’t exactly go how I planned, I’ll admit that. But this is a small price to pay for confirming my thoughts and it work--”

_“You almost lost your left arm!”_

“But I didn’t, thanks to you, correct?” The informant smirks. “Truly, I’m touched to see how much you care.”

“Don’t make me puke. I swear, if Masquerade doesn’t wring your little neck next time you’re so careless, I sure as hell will.”

“Don’t call him that,” Izaya says, clearing his throat as a dizzy spell hits and he collapses back down onto the pillows. _This is all your fault somehow, Shizu-chan._

“Hey, take it easy,” Shizuo growls, reaching out instinctively to set a hand on his shoulder. “Damn it…”

“ _Masquerade…_ ha.” Izaya shakes his head, resting an arm over his eyes. “What a joke. I told you not to get involved, you beast.”

“It’s sort of hard not to get involved when he’s plastering my name all over the city like some sort of fucking treasure hunt.” Shizuo folds his arms. “You know… I think it’d really be best if you told me the whole story.”

“I told you earlier, didn’t I? I know what’s going on, and I can handle it. Besides, trust me, it’s better if you didn’t know. Ignorance is bliss.”

“Listen, flea. Shut up and think of someone other than yourself for once. I have no idea what the hell is going on but like it or not, it _already_ includes me in it. I didn’t ask to get involved, but since apparently it’s got something to do with you I think you at least owe me an explanation.”

“…Owe?” the informant narrows his eyes. “That’s a strong word, Shizu-chan.” And he didn’t like it one bit.

“I’m fully aware of the meaning.”

Izaya watches him for a moment, wondering why the brute had to be so goddamn _annoying._

“Now, then.” Shizuo pulls a chair over from alongside the wall, breaking the silence. “I want you to take a deep breath, gather your thoughts, and _talk to me.”_

The informant shakes his head. “Shizu-chan. Look, I’m serious. Please, don’t make me do this.”

“If you think using words like _please_ is going to be enough to make me enough to change my mind, you’re wrong.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“Stop avoiding the subject before I get pissed off.”

“Right, we’re in a hospital. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“You’re so goddamn arrogant, even when you can’t even move half of your body. Answer my questions.”

Izaya sighs. _Damn this beast._ “His real name… is Ichiru Kawaguchi.” The informant turns his head away to stare out of the window. “And that’s all I’ll say for now.”

He hears Shizuo open his mouth to protest, and tenses accordingly.

The bodyguard seems to get the message. “…All right, then can you at least tell me why you went in without backup, without warning, and let yourself get beaten to a bloody pulp?”

_Ah. Of course, that’s what he’s assuming. Stupid monster._ “What makes you think I _let_ myself?” Izaya asks, turning back to lock eyes with him.

Shizuo holds his gaze. “Because I’ve hit you with a goddamn vending machine and you know how to survive that.”

“Well, it _was_ an explosion.”

“And there were barriers to take cover behind.”

“So you’re automatically concluding that I let myself get beat up on purpose?”

“Well, look at it from my point of view and… it seems awfully suspicious.”

“Hmph.” Izaya narrows his eyes. “All right, I’ll indulge you.”

He doesn’t miss the almost imperceptible look of relief in Shizu-chan’s eyes.

“Ichiru’s almost as skilled as I am when it comes to what we do for a living. But his overconfidence makes him vulnerable. I got… an email, on the morning I went to the warehouse. From Ichiru. Saying he wanted to meet, and requesting I attend alone. Saying he’d be leaving “clues” and “surprises” around town for me to discover to figure out his motives and his intentions. But that’s another story.” He waves a hand to dismiss the subject before Shizuo can protest.

“Anyway, of course – of _course –_ I knew it was a trap. According to my sources, Ichiru already has bugs and moles planted throughout the city. He has – at least, he _thinks_ he has – them planted in the groups I’d use for backup as well. However those groups know which side to choose in situations like these, and so while they alerted me to his attempts at infiltration and I alerted them to my actions, no information ever reached Ichiru. However, that didn’t mean I could take reinforcements either, since he likely would have bailed the instant he saw he’d been fooled. But I know Ichiru, and I know his style, so I took my chances and went in alone. I have an alert on my phone, and if I activated it, Namie would have been notified and a backup plan would have been immediately put into action.” He glances at the beast to make sure he’s still following.

He is, his gaze unwavering. Izaya gets the agonizing reminder that he’s _still_ in just a hospital gown, with no knives and no strength. “So you’re right, I let myself get beat up, too. And while this may all seem overly elaborate to you, it’s to preserve the most potent vulnerability Ichiru has. His overconfidence. And now that he thinks he’s got the upper hand, what with me getting beaten up and appearing to follow his demands, that weakness will most likely inflate. Are you satisfied, _brute?”_

Shizuo is silent for a moment, watching the informant with strangely calm eyes. “Yes.”

_Good._ The more he talks, the more he realizes that he’s fucking _tired_ and it’s still the beast’s fucking fault that his neck hurts so goddamn terribly.

“Did you ever hit that alert?” Shizuo asks, as Izaya stretches his left hand experimentally.

“I was about to before I passed out, but then I realized I was in _safe hands.”_ His dry tone makes the bodyguard visibly stiffen. The informant casts a venomous smirk at Shizuo. “I’m flattered, I really mean it.”

“Be quiet,” Shizuo snaps, standing. “I’m the only one who wasn’t aware of this entire scheme. I look like a fool because of you. Again.”

“That’s not true. I’m delighted to know that I can always count on you when it matters, even when I had already _asked_ you to keep your unbecoming nose _out of it.”_

“Does Namie know you’re all right?” Shizuo switches the subject impatiently, likely because the vein in his forehead has just begun twitching.

“Namie’s on vacation. She didn’t even know I was going into danger, she just would have been notified that I was in a critical condition.”

“On vacation? Why?”

“What is this, a fucking interrogation? Why are you asking so many goddamn _questions?”_

Shizuo raises his hands defensively. “That was the last one, flea.”

Izaya rolls his eyes with a frustrated huff. “Let me spell it out for you, since apparently you’re having trouble getting the idea. I need to work _alone_ on this, and she’d only get in the way. Like someone _else_ I know.” He looks at the blonde pointedly.

“Wow. Is _that_ the thank-you I get for saving your ass?”

“You didn’t _save_ anything!” Izaya hisses. “I had a plan in play, and you arriving completely ruined it. If Ichiru takes even more interest in you now, it’s your own fault.”

“Listen up, you blood-sucking _leech.”_ Shizuo’s dark growl _leaks_ with hatred.

“No, _you_ listen up, Shizu-chan. It’s partially your fault that I couldn’t defend myself adequately to begin with, so you are in absolutely _no position_ to lecture me on the gratitude you feel you have so chivalrously earned.”

Shizuo stares at him. “What? How is that _my_ fault?”

“Well, where do you _think_ the bruising came from?” Izaya tilts his neck up, feeling a rush of satisfaction as Shizuo’s eyes widen in realization.

“Is that… _oh._ I thought…” he trails off.

“You thought it was from Ichiru, too? God, you’re ignorant. I could barely turn my head to look at him, much less function properly.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it felt so _good_ to see Shizuo squirm in discomfort.

“So… so fucking _what,_ flea?” he stammers after a moment. “That’s it? This is all my fault, then? Because it sure as hell isn’t my goddamn fault that he’s here. I’m pretty sure that’s somehow yours.”

“I know. I _know,_ damn you. And I’d be _working_ on figuring out the next steps in my plan if you weren’t here prying for answers like I’m a fucking jukebox.” _Shit._ Now _he’s_ the one getting pissed off.

“You’re an _informant._ I hope I’m not the only one that sees the hypocrisy in your comment.”

“Well… personal stories are a different matter. Especially when they’re _my_ personal stories.”

“Oh, of course. I should have guessed. What a _considerate_ person you are, sparing yourself from your own wreckage.”

“If all you’re going to do is make sarcastic remarks, then please do show yourself out. Almost losing your arm is a rather traumatic experience and you must forgive me if I’m too exhausted to engage in verbal sparring,” the info broker snaps, turning away.

To his relief, he hears a small sigh of relent. “…Yeah, yeah, fine. All right.” Shizuo pushes the chair against a wall. Izaya turns back to see the blonde washing his hands in the kitchenette sink, and lift up a brown paper bag from near the door to set on the counter.

“What is that?” he asks, wary.

“Shut up and rest.” The bodyguard pulls out a plate, a block of cheese, and several pieces of fruit from the bag. He sets to work cutting the cheese, humming quietly.

It takes a few moments for Izaya to convince himself he’s seeing properly. “Are you-”

“Hey!” Shizuo whirls to him, pointing the knife at his chest. “I said to shut up.”

Izaya sighs and shuts his eyes. _Stupid beast._ In silence, he listens to the sound of Shizuo working a few feet away.


	6. Distraction

Shinra Kishitani doesn't like working late. He hates coming home and waking the beautiful creature that has no head but can still somehow hear the front door opening, especially that one time when he forgot his keys and had to ring the doorbell to get her to let him in. She never complained but he always went to sleep cursing himself for disturbing the Dullahan.

It's bad for him, too, especially when he has an appointment in the early morning and doesn't manage to get enough sleep. Generally he tries to keep his availability condensed between certain hours during the day but considering his profession, he rarely manages to keep that schedule consistent.

 _My poor, poor princess._ He lets himself in as quietly as possible, only to be surprised by the light still streaming out from the living room. _My princess is awake…?_

He's even more surprised to see the guest standing by their window, cigarette clenched between his teeth. Celty glances over from her seat on the couch, acknowledging him home. _We have a visitor,_ she types onto her cellphone.

"I can see that," Shinra says, setting down his briefcase and loosening his tie. "How are you, Shizuo?"

"Tch." Shizuo removes his glasses and massages his temples with his thumb and middle finger. His eyes, usually fierce and full of flame, are uncharacteristically dull, and thin scratches peek out from beneath the collar of his shirt. "Exhausted. What about you?"

"I'm concerned." Shinra steps forward, frowning at the scratches and, even more, at the bodyguard's docile mood. "Celty's told me about what's been going on, with your name being exploited around the Dollars website and among other organizations."

Shizuo is silent. The underground doctor clears his throat. "Are you hurt? Did you get in a fight?"

"It's not me that's hurt."

Shinra lifts an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Didn't you see on the news? There was an explosion at an abandoned warehouse about thirty minutes outside of town."

 _Explosion…?_ He has to think for a moment. At his last client's building, they had a TV playing on the background and he faintly remembers snippets of a discussion regarding some sort of disturbance in the industrial part of town. _Was that what it was?_ "Oh, yes, I remember briefly hearing about that. But I heard it was an accident regarding some sort of color gang, and that fortunately no one was injured."

"Is that what they said? Bah. It'd be better if they didn't mention it at all."

"Shizuo, what's happened?"

"I… can I just ask you for a favor?"

"That depends on the favor."

"The…" Shizuo adjusts his glasses. "The, ah, _flea,_ is currently being treated at the hospital. But the cops and the hospital staff have been suspicious about his injury. In the future, if he gets hurt, would it be possible to bring him here instead?"

 _What?!_ "Izaya's in the hospital?" Shinra asks, standing upright. "What's happened?"

"He's fine. I'll give you his room number at the hospital so you can visit. But first, I need an answer."

 _Izaya in the hospital, and Shizuo, of all people, bringing me the news?_ He isn't sure whether he's happy or disturbed. Probably a mix of both. "Look, Shizuo." The doctor runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. "I'm not a replacement for high-tech equipment or a speedy ambulance, but… I think it's important that you have the support you need, regardless of the cause. So, if you need me, of course my door is always open to you."

Shizuo's shoulders relax slightly. "Thank you."

"So now, tell me." Shinra sits on the end of the couch and folds his arms. "What's wrong with Izaya?"

"It's not my place to say. He just had a small accident. Nothing serious."

 _A small accident. Izaya doesn't get put in the hospital for "small" accidents._ "Don't tell me…" Shinra's eyes widen. "That he was involved with the explosion earlier? Is that why you asked about it?"

He doesn't miss the bodyguard's uneasy shift in posture. "Well… look, like I said. I can't really go into details, but if you want to visit him, here's his room number." Shizuo hands the doctor a card with the number _A305_ scrawled along the top

 _Exploitation, power outages, explosions…_ "If this has something to do with that hacker, Masquerade…"

"I don't know!" Shizuo snaps, clutching his forehead. "He won't talk to me about what's going on."

Shinra blows out a breath, realizing he pushed it too far. Shizuo is clearly stressed out, though whether just from the unusual situation with his name or something else, he doesn't know. "So, he's being secretive?"

"Well, yeah, but… Is that anything new?"

At that, Shinra chuckles a little. "Give him time, Shizuo."

 _"Time?_ I'm the one being gossiped about for some unknown reason, dragged into something I never asked to be a part of and you're asking me to give him _time?"_

"Izaya is fragile. He puts on a hard shell, but in reality, he's extremely sensitive and empathetic."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same Izaya?" Shizuo frowns, rubbing the back of his neck.

The doctor can't help but snort. If only Shizuo knew how he really was. "I know it might sound hard to believe, but please trust me on this. I've known him for a long time. I think on the inside, he's probably more scared than you are."

The blonde is silent.

Shinra bites his lip. He's not used to seeing Shizuo like this, with dark eyes and a downturned gaze. "I'm… I'm sorry, Shizuo. I wish there was more I could do for you."

"No, it's fine." The ex-bartender snaps. "Damn it."

"Hey, don't strain yourself." The doctor extends a hand. "You look pale. Why don't you stay the night and rest? I'll take the morning off tomorrow to visit Izaya."

"I'm fine," Shizuo mutters. "Just pissed off."

Celty stands and types into her cellphone. " _Still, I think you're right to feel angry. You really won't be bothering us by staying the night. It might be safer for you here, considering the situation."_

The ex-bartender snorts. "Thanks, but I can handle it on my own. I'd feel bad for dragging you into whatever this is too." He steps over towards the hallway. "But I'll be in touch if I need anything."

Celty waves, and Shinra walks him to the front door. "So you're really not going to tell me what happened with Izaya?"

"I don't want to add fuel to an already out-of-control fire, if that makes sense."

 _So he's afraid…?_ "I understand. Like I mentioned earlier, I'll stop by tomorrow and see if I can help at all."

"He'll probably talk to you more than he'll talk to me." Shizuo adjusts his glasses. "He does hate me, after all."

Now _that_ was surprising. He didn't expect the sudden bitterness in Shizuo's tone. "I thought you hated him, too."

"I do." The blonde stares at him blankly, clearly unaware of the intonation of his previous statement.

"Really?" Shinra frowns. "It sort of seems like you're worried about him."

Shizuo grits his teeth and grabs his old friend by the front of his white lab coat. "Why don't you just _butt out,_ doctor?"

 _Ah. That was a bad idea._ Shinra laughs nervously and holds up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to make you angry."

With a growl, the bodyguard shoves the doctor back and storms out of the apartment. "Make sure to keep me updated!" Shinra calls after him, straightening his coat.

As he shuts the door, he lets out a heavy sigh. He'd always been concerned about those two, but they had, however, always managed to do things independently while also managing to despise the other with a burning devotion. Thousands of unusual incidents had rocked their worlds and they had each risen above them and built upon the destruction rather than being drowned by it.

Shinra leans against the hallway, clenching his fists. Judging by that alone, there should be no problem. So why does he feel so nervous?

* * *

"You look like hell," Tom Tanaka remarks, eyeing his friend. "I got your text, where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere where the alcohol is strong enough to take my mind off that flea and everything else."

The tax collector sighs and beckons. "All right, come on."

As they walk, the city nightlife begins to awaken around them. Neon signs flicker to life, partygoers begin to trickle onto the streets, and day-businesses shut down their stores for the evening. "It's only nine o'clock." Tom frowns, checking his watch. "Still pretty early for heavy drinking, but…"

"I don't give a shit," Shizuo growls. "If I don't do _something_ to relieve this stress, I swear I'm going to kill somebody." Why he'd decided to go to Shinra's place as an attempt to unwind baffled him. He knew – he fucking _knew –_ how blunt and socially clueless the doctor could be at times. Instead of feeling reassured, like he had hoped, he only feels worse.

_I'm just going to talk to Celty next time instead._

"Yeah, all right." Tom pushes open the door to a bar and Shizuo stalks inside. "Get whatever you want. I'll pay."

The bar is dimly lit. Warm, brown tones and round chandeliers create a cozy, yet classy, atmosphere. Across the room, a football game is playing on TV. The club isn't empty, but it's not crowded either, and several seats are yet to be filled at the counter. They sit together, Shizuo cursing under his breath while he agitatedly swirls the liquid in his glass. "I'm going to kill him after all this, I'm going to kill him, I _swear to god_ I'm going to kill him for this…"

Tom sighs, watching Shizuo in his infuriated trance as the bodyguard gulps down the contents of the glass and holds out his hand for a refill. "Hey, take it easy now," he says, setting an arm on Shizuo's shoulder.

Shizuo shoots his employer a dark glower.

"Okay, nevermind," Tom breathes, setting his chin in his hands. "I guess I'm taking you home tonight. Do you want to talk about anything?"

"Tch. Talking would just make me even angrier." He had already attempted talking with Shinra, and didn't want to make the same mistake twice.

"All right, well… I'm here, if you need to."

"I appreciate the offer." The blonde blows out a breath, staring at his reflection in the ice cubes of his drink. "To tell you the truth, this whole thing is just… driving me insane."

"Aren't you trying to stay out of it?"

"Yeah, I was, until I was on my way to meet you this morning and heard an explosion and wound up having to take the flea to the hospital." _And he wasn't exactly pleasant about it, either._

"Is that what happened?" Tom asks carefully, studying his bodyguard.

"I didn't skip work cause I wanted to," Shizuo snaps. "But… I am sorry I didn't even call until the day was halfway over."

"You don't need to apologize, Shizuo. You did the right thing."

 _Bullshit. I should've just let the flea die right there and taken out Masque- Ichiru while I had the chance._ All his problems would have been solved so painlessly. "I don't even know what's going on. How can I possibly know what 'the right thing' to do is?" he shakes his head. "Shinra says I need to be patient. And the flea just blabs on about how 'ignorance is bliss' and it would be worse for me to get involved but… the blind bastard can't even see that I can't possibly stay away now."

"Don't you think Izaya's just trying to protect you?"

"All I know is he's an asshole and I'm going to kill him when this is all over." Shizuo chugs the beverage in his hand, brow furrowed. Even after he had made a trip to the store while the doctors patched him up, the flea had rejected his hospitality, refusing the food he had made as if it was poison. He'd left the plate there anyway, after throwing up his hands in exasperation and leaving the tiny rat to his own devices.

"I'm sorry, Shizuo. I really am." Tom frowns, running his hand over the cracks in the polished bar surface. The club's patrons are getting slightly louder as the football game continues across the room, but Shizuo doesn't seem to care, and flags down the bartender for another glass.

"Holy crap, seriously, how much are you going to drink?"

"Hah? As much as I need to dull my senses and attempt to abandon this world, obviously."

"Right." Tom huffs. "Avoiding the situation is helpful because…?"

" _Because_ I don't want to get pissed off and destroy something and make things worse." Shizuo slams an empty glass on the table. "Don't worry though. I'll try to choose the cheaper drinks."

Tom opens his mouth to reply, but he's cut off by the heavy crackle of static, and bright white text appearing across the bar's TV.


	7. Dissension

_I am Masquerade._

The static reaches Shizuo just before the sensation of fear sets in.

Beside him, Tom curses. The rowdy patrons stiffen in silence. The lights on the bar blink out, and the city is once more plunged into darkness. He can’t move. He can’t _think._ He sits, petrified by the stifled onset of dread.

_5/23_

The numbers flash over the screen, interrupted continuously by bits of shallow interference.

And then, without fail…

_Much love to Shizuo Heiwajima._

The television’s original broadcast resumes as police sirens begin to howl throughout the city.

The still, shocked silence of the bar is broken by the sound of breaking glass as Shizuo’s fist twitches. As Tom leaps up, the bodyguard tosses the bits of glass aside and storms out the door.

His feet pound along the cement as he stalks down the street. His head is throbbing. His fingers are _itching_ to demolish something beneath them (they’re bleeding, too, from breaking the glass, but he could hardly care). “Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, _damn it…”_ As he fumes by, others still somewhat startled by the blackout leap aside to let him pass, knowing better than to stand in the way of the famous bodyguard. Moreover, as he stomps by, those who watch him go notice a faint tilt to his strides and shudder slightly. Especially after the power failure, an uncoordinated, somewhat tipsy Shizuo Heiwajima was certainly _not_ something they wanted to experience on their night out.

The bodyguard comes to a shaky stop beneath a café awning as he tries to think through the alcohol. Whatever was going on, he hadn’t planned on it happening so _soon._

_Drinking was a mistake._

He’s not much of a lightweight, but he can still feel the clenched, disorienting grip of booze over his head. His hands feel slowed, too. His entire body seems remote, sluggish and uncoordinated.

_Drinking was a terrible mistake._

As the shrill screech of police sirens and emergency response teams pierce the night air, he clenches his forehead in frustration. _That flea…_

Suddenly, he gets an idea.

An utterly _brilliant_ idea. An idea that, under normal circumstances, he might have decided (quite reasonably) against acting upon. But he was _tired,_ he was _confused,_ and most importantly, he was _angry._

“Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it…” The _damn-its_ follow him all the way from the bar as he continues down the sidewalk, only breaking their rapid pace when he needs to catch his breath.

He was going to confront that little brat.

“I’m sorry, visiting hours are now over--” the man sitting behind the desk begins as Shizuo barges in, trailing _damn-its_ behind him.

“Oh. Is that _so?”_ he snarls back.

The receptionist’s face changes to a mixture of disbelief and apprehension when he sees the furious, partially-intoxicated blonde bodyguard. “Sir. Why don’t you have a seat?” he asks, somewhat concerned but still mostly terrified.

“Why don’t you shove your _sirs_ and your polite talk up your ass and unlock the door?” Shizuo slams a fist atop the stack of clipboards beside the front desk’s computer. “I’m gonna _strangle_ that flea.”

The receptionist is just starting to debate whether he can manage to call the police without tipping off the infuriated guest when there’s a rapping from the other side of the glass door leading into the patient rooms.

A pale Izaya stands on the other side, one hand on the portable IV drip hooked to his arm, a blue hospital gown over his body. He shakes his head at the sight of Shizuo and pushes open the door. “What are you doing here, creating such a ruckus while patients are trying to sleep?”

The receptionist stands. “Ah, sir, you shouldn’t be moving yet…”

“I’m obviously here to kick your goddamn ass!” Shizuo growls, stalking over to the informant. The world tilts a little and he sets a hand on the side of a couch to stable himself.

Izaya narrows his eyes. “If you could manage to throw one coordinated kick in this state, I’d actually be impressed.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s called a reality check. You’re welcome.”

“No, not thank you. _Fuck_ you.”

“Oh my, such _language_. I’m afraid such coarse words are bad for my sensitive ears, so please do stop harassing our poor receptionist and leave before you wake all of the other patients.”

“ _Izaya!”_ Shizuo snarls. “How the _hell_ are you so calm? Did you see what happened on TV?”

“Of course I did. The entire hospital is running on backup generators until the city can block his power cuts.”

“This is exactly the kind of crap we could avoid if you just fucking _talked_ to me about what was going on! Everyone is scared, Izaya. Everyone is _terrified._ You should have seen their faces at the bar. This whole goddamn city is at the mercy of some lunatic in a white gas mask and you aren’t doing _jack shit_ to try and stop him. Getting beat up to stay ahead, my ass. You’re getting carried away with your fantastical schemes. He doesn’t just _think_ he has the upper hand, you goddamn punk, he actually has it. _This_ is why I’ve always hated your guts, you know. You can’t tell when to back the hell off and take something seriously for once. I almost fell for your bullshit act about some long-lost companion or whatever, but this has _got to stop right fucking n-_ -”

The bodyguard trails off when he sees the look on Izaya’s face. The informant stares at him with a look of utter disgust and contempt.

Shizuo suddenly gets the feeling that his anger, combined with the liquor, may have gotten the better of him yet again.

It’s not like Izaya to just _look_ at someone. When provoked, usually the flea’s comeback comments were so eloquently worded and smoothly delivered he could practically imagine him sitting at home and reciting them to a mirror. He’s never seen Izaya look so _unamused_ either. Nothing more than disappointment and scorn rests now in those red-brown eyes.

“Are you done?” Izaya leans against his IV drip for support. That’s when Shizuo notices how utterly _white_ the informant looks. And frail, too. In nothing more than his hospital gown, the broker’s arms are swimming in the too-large sleeves and his collarbones just out prominently from beneath the lapel. “Good. Because you’re drunk, clueless and have absolutely no right to barge into a hospital – _at night –_ slinging your accusations at me.” He shakes his head. “But I suppose it’s perfect timing, considering I won’t be needing your help anymore. Not that I ever needed it to begin with.”

“Hey.”

“You mentioned that you had my number, right? Please delete it. I really would rather have nothing to do with you.”

_“Hey.”_

“Don’t get me wrong, though. Your appearance the other day was certainly beneficial to the situation, but your use has expired and I’d rather not deal with your petty, drunken rants.”

 _“Hey!_ What the hell is this?”

Izaya turns away with a patronizing snort. “Go back and get drunk and forget about this, Shizuo. Before I have our lovely receptionist here call the police to drag you out by the collar of that outfit you so _dearly_ love.”

“I’m not done here, _bastard.”_ Shizuo reaches out and grabs the info broker by the elbow. Shit. He was _really_ pissed off now. So much so that he’d be tempted to upturn the sofa if they weren’t in a hospital. At least, he _would_ have been. But something stops his anger cold in its tracks.

Beneath his grasp, Izaya tenses. His arms… good lord, his _arms…_ “How much are you eating?” the bodyguard asks, bewildered.

“Not that _that’s_ any of your business, but for your information I eat enough to maintain a healthy weight,” Izaya snaps, jerking his arm away. The color has almost completely drained from his face. “And it’s frustrating being in the hospital and not being able to weigh myself nightly, but I suppose it’s my punishment for _getting carried away_ the other day. Now excuse me. I’d like to return to my room. Passing out on a tile floor is really not the most comfortable thing to do.”

Shit. Shit. He is so weak. He is so fucking _weak._

“Wait--”

Izaya glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Don’t bother. Like I said. I won’t be needing your help anymore.” His tone is flat. His eyes are dull. “If you feel like dying before I manage to get discharged, that would be _extremely_ helpful. Have a good night at the bar.”

“Is _that_ what you’re so fucking mad about?”

The informant pauses for a moment.

“You know, Shizu-chan. For once, you and whatever you’re choosing to do are the _last_ thing on my mind.”

The door to the lounge opens before Shizuo can respond. A half-concerned Namie enters carrying a black briefcase. “Oh, I texted you thinking you’d be asleep by now. Sorry it’s taken so long, there was a blackout and traffic was terrible.”

“No worries,” Izaya nods to his secretary, who steps over to him and frowns.

“You look absolutely terrible.”

“I feel absolutely terrible, too.”

She sets her hand on his forehead. “From what you’ve told me about your injury, it doesn’t seem wise for you to be on your feet so soon. Unless you’ve become suicidal?”

For some reason, some unreasonable, uncontrollable, impulsive, inconceivable reason, the sight of Namie touching Izaya so tenderly makes the bodyguard clench his fists hard enough that his nails puncture his skin.

“Ha.” Izaya tilts his head away, and her hand falls back at her side.

“Oh, Shizuo,” Namie remarks, as if she’s just now bothered to notice his existence. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. The flea said you were on vacation.”

“I still am, technically,” she sighs. “But Izaya called me a few minutes ago asking for some equipment from his apartment, so I swung by and brought it over. For a pay raise, of course.”

“His _apartment?”_

“Namie, I really would love to stay and chat but I truly do feel like I’m about to collapse if I stand up any longer,” the informant says sweetly, his body beginning to visibly quiver.

“Oh, right. I’ll help you back to your room.” She nods to the man sitting behind the desk. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Wary but overall overwhelmed, the receptionist unlocks the door and relocks it behind them, leaving Shizuo standing alone in silence.

He turns away, his hands in his pockets, and stalks out of the hospital lounge.


	8. Broken Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings. I've been off for a longgggg while. A lot of things have happened, so I was unfortunately out of service for a bit. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter. There will be smut happening proooobably the chapter after next... ~.^ We'll see. <3

_Damn it._

He lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, which is bending and tilting in ways he’s never seen it do before.

_God. I’m so fucking stupid._

The alcohol had kept his body uncoordinated enough to keep him from leveling the city and the flea along with it. But his _mouth…_ holy shit. He’d really done it at the hospital. It was a miracle he hadn’t been arrested for harassing the receptionist. This whole situation was driving him insane. All he wanted to do was live a _peaceful, normal,_ and _completely average_ life. Was that so hard to ask? Every time he got a _fraction_ of normality, that informant came and screwed everything up. And Shizuo hates to admit it, but this is the first time he feels dragged into a scheme where he’s mildly wondering if his life might actually be in danger.

This battle wasn’t his. These people – people like _Izaya –_ they didn’t fight with fists. They fought with secrets. They wore lies for armor and wielded information like a weapon, merciless and cruel. This wasn’t his world, and he had absolutely no hold over what was said and done. He couldn’t even stop making that twat Masquerade – _Ichiru –_ exploit him and his name all over social media. And even if there _was_ something he was good for, he wouldn’t know, because that pest Izaya was being an unreasonable bitch.

_Shinra was right._

He should have been patient. He should have tried to think rationally rather than letting his fears get the better of him. Thanks to his own doings, he’d irritated the informant and probably gotten himself banned from the hospital.

What the _hell_ was going on with Izaya, anyway? His dark shift in mood this evening had been… unexpected. Rejecting assistance, after _he_ was the one that suggested they work together in the first place. Asking Namie to bring his equipment, even though he could barely stand and looked like he was in no state to work.

_Damn it!_ Shizuo slams his fist against the mattress, cursing under his breath. None of this made any _sense._ He was getting tired of trying to decode Izaya’s mood swings and piece together what he knew about the situation. At this point, he felt more like one of the informant’s pawns than anything else, and it wasn’t a position that he liked.

_Maybe I should just leave it all alone._ Somewhat clumsily, he pushes himself up and rubs his eyes, stray strands of yellow hair brushing his cheeks. That’s what Izaya had wanted him to do all along, wasn’t it? Stay out, stay away, stay hidden.

_Could_ he leave it all alone? After what had happened?

_Whatever. Like I care._ It didn’t matter. His sense of concern is replaced by an aching mix of frustration and rejection. It had been foolish of him to think, even for a second, that Izaya meant what he had proposed that night in the city. Twice as foolish to think that Izaya needed _his_ support; the informant lived in a completely different world.

Humiliation surfaces as Shizuo pictures himself buying groceries after the accident. The bastard didn’t need that. He already had people that owed him favors. He had puppets that he could summon with the tug of a string, he had Namie and his sisters, he had Shinra. He had a thousand people that he would go to for help, before ever even considering the bodyguard.

_I’m so stupid._

That was all _fine –_ no, it was _exactly_ what he wanted. This was what he’d been asking for, wasn’t it? To finally be left out of Izaya’s madness, for the little twerp to turn away at last and leave him in peace.

He stands, a newfound sense of resolve coiling in the pit of his stomach. _Don’t need this, don’t need him, don’t need the drama--_

In his empty, dilapidated apartment, the sudden echo of his phone buzzing on the broken nightstand beside his bed makes him jump.

_[Caller ID: Unknown]_

But he’d know those digits anywhere.

_Shit._

Half of him wants nothing more than to smash the nightstand to bits, along with the phone and the flea’s number with it. Half of him is tempted to ignore it – which was probably the wisest choice – and leave Izaya to fend for himself. And another part of him is hit by a rush so intoxicatingly electrifying that it’s almost revolting.

_-Vrrrr… vrrrr... vrrrr…-_

It’s tempting.

_-Vrrrr…-_

It’s almost convincing.

_-Vrrrr…-_

He picks it up before his better judgement kicks in.

The initial silence on the other end of the line is almost an insult. _“What?”_ Shizuo spits out, not bothering to check his tone.

_“…Shizu-chan.”_

Izaya’s voice is so weary and distraught that it’s disturbing. Something more than exhaustion is tainting his words. He sounds… _broken._

Shizuo clears his throat. “What is it?”

_“…We need to talk.”_

There’s a long pause. _Yeah, no fucking shit._

_“I’m trying to get discharged early. Can you meet me this weekend?”_

“When and where?”

_“I don’t know, I don’t know, I can’t…”_ The informant draws in a shaky breath. _“I’ll send you an address and a time.”_

“Izaya, what the fuck is going on?”

_“I can’t talk about it now.”_ His tone is wobbly, fluctuating, unsteady, and raw. _“Please, just… do as I say.”_

“…”

_“I take your silence to mean you have doubts. Look, I’m offering to explain.”_

“Will your arm still be attached to your body if you get discharged early?”

_“My arm is fine,”_ Izaya snaps. _“It was just a cut. The bone’s not even broken.”_

“Did you just say it was _just a cut?”_

_“Shut up, Shizu-chan. Just follow my instructions.”_

“No, I won’t shut up, bastard. Trust goes both ways.”

_“What do you want from me, then?”_ his voice is so weary that Shizuo almost takes pity on him. Almost.

“ _If_ you get discharged early. We can meet this weekend. But I’ll pick the place and the time, and you aren’t allowed to question me about it. Got that?”

_“Why are you-”_

“Do you _got that,_ flea?”

_“…Fine. You can decide. I certainly hope you’re smarter than you look, otherwise we’ll both be screwed.”_

The phone clicks, and Shizuo is left in the dark with his stinging comment, face knotted in annoyance. Why, _why_ did Izaya have to be so goddamn irritating?

His head is just beginning to clear from the night, but he grabs the bottle of vodka from the side of his bed all the same. Drinking himself to sleep suddenly sounds remarkably appealing, even if it means a throbbing headache and stinging stomach tomorrow morning.

* * *

_He leans along the windowpane, watching his classmates kick up leaves and dirt on the field of Raijin Academy Middle School below. The midday sun casts a golden glow over the book in his hand, a strip of paper protruding from about a third through the pages. It’s late October. Everyone is bundled in hats and scarves, noses pink and jackets buttoned. He eyes the group of boys that sit scheming along the fence, sticking their tongues out at anyone who passes and making faces at the girls nearby. He’s been watching them for a while now. Curiosity brims in his chest. The world flickers, just for a fraction of a second, as it peaks._

_“It’s dangerous to lean against windows.”_

_He glances over his shoulder._

_The boy has cold, watery-blue eyes and pale skin. He’s short. Skinny. Platinum-blonde hair frames his face in waves. He’s seen the boy around – vaguely. Never on the field during recess, never at the cafeteria during lunch. They’ve passed in the halls, always alone, always headed in opposite directions. Izaya’s always found the boy’s sharp face and light hair peculiar, if not notable. He arches an eyebrow now, that familiar curiosity bubbling in his core. “Can I help you?”_

_The boy shrugs. “What are you reading?”_

_“A psychology book. Did you want to check it out? I’ve almost finished.”_

_“No, I was just interested to know. That’s all.”_

_“Why?”_

_The boy shrugs again._

_Izaya turns back to the window. The boys have gone, and the field is beginning to empty. He gathers his coat and the book, waiting until the last student has entered the building before finally breaking his gaze._

_When he turns back to leave, he’s surprised to find the boy still watching him. That odd, watery gaze searches his own with amusement and a hint of wariness. “What’s your name?”_

_His abundance of straightforward questions strike Izaya as unusual. He’s abrupt, direct, curt. Everything that Izaya is not._

_“Izaya Orihara. What’s yours?”_

_“Ichiru. Ichiru Kawaguchi.”_

_“Good to meet you.”_

_“Yes. I’m sure you’ll see me around.”_


	9. Collisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everybody.  
> So.  
> I owe all of my followers an ENORMOUS apology - I have been offline for an ungodly amount of time. I'm so sorry. I had other matters that took my attention away from fanfictions, but I'm back now and will hopefully be updating a lot more often.  
> I am so pleased to bring you a new chapter and I hope you enjoy it!  
> 

_He counts the minutes that pass, his hungry eyes roaming over the doors as the hospital lights slowly blink off._

_It’s been an hour since the bartender left, kicking a stray soda can across the road and cursing Izaya’s name under his breath. It’s been thirty minutes since Izaya’s secretary followed, wearing that flat expression and carrying a thick wad of cash._

Stupid girl, _he had thought, from his spot in the shadows of the hospital gates. If he’d been a thief, she’d have been an easy target._

_But he isn’t here for Namie. He doesn’t even care all that much about Shizuo – ruthless brute – unless it meant getting to Izaya. His old acquaintance had become soft; it was getting easier and easier to push his buttons._

_When he decides that it’s finally his turn to pay the broker a visit, it means a call to a friend working from a bunker just outside of town. It means a flicker of electricity, in which the hacker quietly takes over the hospital’s cameras and security system. It means the back doors to the hospital unlocking and a man in white slipping in undetected._

_He treads lightly, padded boots making only a slight scuffle as he steps over tile floors. The sharp sting of disinfectant hangs around his gray coat, the soft whirring from monitors and printers his only accompanying sound._

_It isn’t difficult to avoid any unwanted witnesses – the ER is in the next building over and his back entrance had meant direct access to the elevators. Izaya, he already knows, is on the third floor._

_The receptionist, dozing lightly at his desk, doesn’t stir as the elevators chime and a white-haired trespasser patiently awaits the click of remotely unlocked doors. When the hacker manages to open it, Ichiru Kawaguchi’s stomach twists in delight, and he bites back an elated smile._

_He steps now, in a pale gray coat and a surgical mask, down the dimly-lit halls. The soft glow of monitors and emergency exit signs illuminates the numbers on the doors._

_302, 304, 306…_

_The faint sound of typing makes him turn back._

_The clicks of the keyboard are almost imperceptible through the thick glass doors, but with the rest of the hall so silent, it isn’t hard to trail them to room 305. A faint flicker of light flashes against the drawn curtain._

_A glittering, gleeful swell of excitement thrashes through Ichiru’s body. He can barely contain the pleasure that snakes through his veins, the thrill of being in control and in command. It was especially delightful when Izaya, of all people, was under his thumb._

_Drawing in a breath, he sets his hand on the knob, and turns._

_The typing abruptly stops._

_In the pale light of his laptop screen, Izaya’s features remain careful and controlled. But even he cannot hide the alarm that Ichiru sees sweep across those rust-colored eyes._

_The door swings shut, and they stare in silence._

_Dark bags lie heavy beneath the informant’s eyelashes. His black hair is scruffy, and the hospital gown sags over his shoulders like a sack. It’s almost pitiful._

_“I didn’t think you’d come so soon.” Izaya is the first to break the silence._

_“I thought it was time we catch up.” Ichiru’s voice is low and smooth._

_“I see. How have you been?”_

_“I’m well. I’m busy with projects, as usual.”_

_“Yes, you always were quite the entrepreneur.” Ichiru doesn’t detect any sarcasm in Izaya’s words._

_“What about you?”_

_“Same. Quite busy with clients. It’s extremely taxing to manage both you and them at the same time.”_

_“I wish I could sympathize. You know why I’m here.” Ichiru steps closer, and his eyes turn hard._

_“Do I?” Izaya arches an eyebrow. “If it’s revenge you’re after, then I don’t care. It’s ugly and stupid.”_

_“This isn’t revenge,” Ichiru laughs. “This is a game. This is personal. Come on, Orihara-san, we both like to play god.”_

_“Is this your way of avoiding boredom?”_

_“Perhaps.”_

_“Then it’s still stupid.”_

_“Why? Because it drags_ innocent _people in? You’ve grown soft.”_

_“Because I’m not interested and neither is anyone else. And we both know who’ll win, anyway.”_

_Ichiru’s white-gloved hands clench._

_“Still wearing those gloves, I see. You’ve never gotten over your germaphobia, have you?”_

_“I’ve gotten over it enough to do this-!” Ichiru pins Izaya to the sheets by the throat, and the broker has a blade at his jugular in seconds._

_“I will slit your throat, Ichiru.” His voice is level and cold. “And I am not lying.”_

_“Like hell you will,” Ichiru snarls, but he releases his grip all the same. Izaya swallows and shifts beneath his hospital gown. Even in the darkness, Ichiru can see the swelling over his old classmate’s neck. He must be in agony._

_“If you came to kill me, you aren’t doing a very thorough job,” Izaya says, his voice hoarse._

_“I didn’t come to kill you. Not yet.” His guest leans back against the doorframe, expression hidden behind the surgical mask. “I came to tell you that death occurs in multiples, and the longer you refuse to play, the more others will perish in your name.”_

_Izaya snorts. “If you think I give a shit about what_ others-”

 _“I think – I_ know _– you care more than you tell others. More than you tell yourself. And by god, Izaya. I am going to exploit each of your weaknesses until you succumb to your own faults, drowned in failures and deceit, haunted by your ghosts and your own destruction. And I will have you on your knees, begging for mercy, at my feet.”_

_“I have never begged for anything in my life,” Izaya snaps. “Get out of my room. Get out of my city.”_

_“One last thing,” Ichiru pulls an envelope from his pocket, tied in white and black ribbons, and offers it to the informant. When he doesn’t take it, his visitor sets it on the nightstand. “Don’t forget,” he whispers, leaning into the doorway. “Our anniversary is coming.”_

_With that, Ichiru pushes open the door, laughing silently into his mask, leaving the informant with his gift in the shadows of his hospital room._


End file.
